


Arsenic and Old Chest Plates

by flowersforgraves



Series: hc_bingo round 8 [25]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 02:12:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13284741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: In which Cheri cleans up.prompt: burns





	Arsenic and Old Chest Plates

After a long, _long_ day’s work, she’s finally finished. It’s been a painful day’s work too, she reflects ruefully as she starts to clean up.

Her hands are blistered and cracked, and it hurts like nobody’s business. She’s good at what she does, and generally she enjoys it too, but on occasion it can get pretty dangerous.

Cheri Littlebottom slowly dips her hands into the cool water. She winces as the raw burns are submerged into the clean water, but it’s worth it. She doesn’t want her hands to get infected. She knows she can get away with time off, but she’d rather not take it if she doesn’t have to.

“Hey,” Angua von Uberwald says, leaning against the doorframe. “Everything alright?”

“Sure,” Cheri says, flinching a little as she soaps the sore skin. “Just overdid it a little on the arsenic testing.”

“Seared off some of your eyebrows,” Angua points out, stepping forward into Cheri’s space.

“Yeah,” she says. “I have to take care of my hands first, though.”

“Need some help?” Angua asks.

Cheri looks surprised. “I thought you weren’t big on water.”

“For you, I can be.” She flashes Cheri a sharp grin, and all of a sudden Cheri understands why the werewolf sergeant terrifies so many of Ankh-Morpork’s denizens.

“Thank you,” she says politely. “Careful please, I did a real number on my hands.”

“Of course,” Angua says, with a slight bow. She drops to her knees to get on Cheri’s level; being a short dwarf and a tall werewolf, they have quite the height difference. “How did your experiments turn out?”

“Oh, it was fine,” Cheri says. “Right up until it exploded in my face. Found out what I needed to, though, so the Commander should be happy.”

Angua whistles low. “That explains the eyebrows. But what happened to your hands?”

“I don’t know where my oven mitts are,” she confesses. “I picked up the hot glass with my bare hands.”

Angua’s eyes widen. “Cheri!”

“Yes?” she asks, knowing full well what the admonishment is going to be.

“You don’t have to do that,” Angua tells her. “We have other ways to help out with things like that. I mean, if worse comes to worst, I think Commander Vimes would probably use his official chest plate to sweep it all up into a pile.”

“I don’t think it’d need to get to ‘worst’ for that, actually,” Cheri quips. “Have you seen the way he glares at that thing?”

Angua laughs, a melodic sound. She reaches up to run a thumb over Cheri’s eyebrowless forehead. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Yes,” she says. “I’m fine. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, and I’m sure it won’t be the last either.”

“Okay,” Angua says doubtfully. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Cheri says firmly. If she misses the touch when Angua pulls away, she doesn’t comment on it. And if Angua regrets not leaning in for a kiss, her face gives nothing away either.


End file.
